


Time's a Funny Thing

by RenaRoo



Series: RvB Angst War [19]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Missed Opportunities, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: [RvB Angst War] Simmons gets an unexpected invitation years after he and Grif made a change to their relationship





	Time's a Funny Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Took a Wrong Turn at Normal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7891021) by [RenaRoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo). 



> prompt ( @powerfulpomegranate ) [ANGST PROMPT]: Grif and Simmons drift apart and years later, before he knows it, Simmons gets a wedding invitation in the mail. Could be "Took a Wrong Turn at Normal"-verse except they never patched things up. :D
> 
> A/N: WOW THIS HURT. Thank you, Becky <3 In all seriousness, though, if anyone hasn’t read “Took a Wrong Turn at Normal” and is interested in a happy ending click the title for the link lol

He was going through the mail he had picked up on his way up to the apartment, nice and orderly. Even if he wasn’t opening it yet, there was no reason to not have it arranged in the best order _to_ open it as he made the climb. Donut’s words were still ringing in his ears.

Apparently he didn’t _get out_ enough and he didn’t _go with him and Doc to dinner_ enough over the past few years. None of which was _wrong._ But Simmons had spent the last three years being excruciatingly tired of being everyone’s third wheel.

Simmons had _never_ been a third wheel before.

Going through the mail was usually a mindless task and he could have continued to obsess over Donut’s words for a good hour or two more, but a casual glance toward a sending address sent a chill throughout Simmons’ body.

Stopping in his tracks, Simmons stared at the envelope and looked at the name — the address could not have been less familiar, save for it being from _Hawaii_ , but the name…

_Dexter Grif._

“Oh my god,” Simmons said, heart pounding in his chest before he took off to his apartment, nearly yanked the door off its hinges, and shut it behind him. Like some kind of teenage girl who had been passed a note. But Simmons hadn’t _cared._

He couldn’t have cared less, not when he was finally hearing back from Grif.

Years ago, Simmons had… Well, he had made a reasonable request. A request that _should_ have been reasonable at any rate. The idea was that if they weren’t going to be a couple, then he and Grif needed to not fuck around when they were seeing other people. And while Grif’s reaction had been _strained_ at best, it was ultimately something he had also agreed to.

And from that point on, that was _exactly_ what they did. Until the point that Simmons realized he could not stand the paper thin walls of their shared apartment any longer and moved out. Started exploring, and failing, at dating even _more_ than before. And Grif…

Well. Grif went _home._ And Simmons didn’t follow.

Hands shaking, Simmons tore open the letter only to find… a card.

It wasn’t Simmons’ birthday, or any important date to them as Reds. At least he was almost _certain_ it wasn’t. Until he pulled the card from the envelope and saw…

He saw…

_Richard Simmons,_

_You are cordially invited to the union of—_

His eyes ran over the rest of the words in the note, but Simmons’ brain did not accept them. Really, if anything, his brain felt as though the gears had ground themselves in to a full halt. He was _dumbfounded_ by the card.

It was an invitation.

It was an invitation to _Grif’s wedding._

He let the letter slip from his fingers and he stared into the space it once occupied, mouth opened and incapable of forming anything but the dry noise rasping from his throat.

“Oh,” he finally formed, glancing down to his feet where the card had fallen. “Oh… good… that’s. For Grif. That’s… so good.” He lowered down, right knee hitting the carpet as he shakily tried to pick the card back up. “That’s so good… for Grif… for him… and… and…”

Simmons didn’t even know who Grif’s significant other was. He didn’t know if they treated Grif right or if they knew his favorite show to marathon on a bad day was _MST3k_ or if they talked about the ethics of _Star Wars_ with him on the level that Simmons could or if or if… or if…

The card fell again but Simmons didn’t grab for it, instead placing his head in his hands and trembling from head to toe. His left knee also hit the carpet.

“Good… good… good for him…” Simmons kept repeating, hoping he would eventually mean it.

All he could think about was that day, the day he said they should see other people, and the look of bewilderment and upset that flickered on Grif’s face before he agreed. All Simmons could think about was how they had something _good_ for _both of them_ and he had fucked it up.

 _He_ fucked it up.

And now he was a third wheel.


End file.
